


Imperial Lessons

by Final_Acts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-07 03:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12225180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Final_Acts/pseuds/Final_Acts
Summary: This will be a series of short scenes revolving around Gilad Pellaeon and a young officer he was training, Tarn Moraine. He believed that Moraine had the potential to be a genuinely quality officer, but discovers that he is a traitor to the Empire. Even then, Pellaeon isn't entirely ready to give up on him. He believes that Tarn, like many young people, has a lot to learn not only about life, but about who he is and who he wants to be, and he isn't ready to let him go.This series of scenes presents the Empire as a collection of generally decent people, and is based in the old Legends universe, not the new animation. Thrawn/Pellaeon will probably be present at some point, and Pellaeon/Tarn may be as well, but no guarantees on either.





	1. Moving On

Moraine couldn’t sleep. He’d tried, but every time, the memory came back. As soon as he thought he could  _physically_ relax, his mind betrayed him and the scene replayed again and again in his mind. 

It was his first navigational watch and his first precision turn, taking the ship through a debris field. Captain Pellaeon stood by his shoulder, and Tarn could still smell the older man’s aftershave, a scent he now thought might haunt him all his life, reminding him of his shame.

No matter how many times he told himself that he could accept his mistake and move on, he couldn’t. Not yet. He kept it bottled up and let it fester, and every time he looked at a screen and remembered how he’d stared at one, he could feel his cheeks heat. He had been studying the screen so hard that day, watching the movement of the ship relative to a hauling point charted months ago, he hadn’t even noticed the building tension on the bridge, noticed the deepening silence as everyone focused harder and harder on their assigned duty. Pellaeon had been watching  _him,_ calmer than anyone else, and had finally cleared his throat quietly and said just one soft word, one word that haunted Moraine, because the moment he heard it, he’d heard all of his own ineptitude. 

_“Helm?”_

_“Aye, sir. Permission to turn?”_ The woman had sounded almost desperately hopeful.

Pellaeon had looked out the window, glanced over at a clock, then turned to Moraine. “ _What are you waiting for, Lieutenant_?” he had asked quietly, his voice curious, not pleased, but not yet angry. Moraine had looked up and seen the wreck they were fast closing on, seen at once how much closer it was than on the chart, and he’d immediately ordered the haul, calling the exact degrees out sharply and without hesitation. Face scarlet, hands clammy, heart racing, he hadn’t been able to look anyone in the eye for the rest of the watch. He had felt every gaze on him and swore he could feel their pure condemnation and anger. 

No. Sleep wouldn’t be coming for him anytime soon, he was sure. 

Not that night. Not the next. Not the next. 

Not the next. 

He conducted himself in a cool, self-possessed manner on his next watch, taking care to handle everything with absolute precision and attention to detail, but it didn’t help the shame. Taste had gone out of the food, showers lost their appeal, and even the lovely helmsman, who he never let himself look at anyway, had lost any shine in his eyes.

-

“Captain?” 

Pellaeon turned when the young man walked in and had to suppress a smile at just how earnest he looked, how anxious, and how exhausted. He could remember being that young once upon a time; he could remember how hard it was to let go of anything. When Moraine gave him a nod of greeting, he could see how badly the man wanted to salute, and he knew where that need came from – the young officer’s desperate (and likely subconscious) need to prove to himself that he still belonged in the military.

“Have a seat.” 

Tarn hesitated for a moment, then quickly remembered himself and moved to obey, sitting at the long, glossy black table. “Sir. May I ask what this is about?” 

“You look tired.” 

Moraine cleared his throat quietly and tried to sit up straighter. “Apologies, sir. I’m fine, it’s just–” 

Pellaeon silenced him with a look. For a moment, they were both quiet, just looking at each other, and then the captain took a seat at the other end of the table. Although he didn’t particularly care to sprawl in front of other officers, he made himself lean back comfortably in the chair – as comfortably as one could get, anyway – and he clasped his hands over his stomach.

“Let’s talk about what happened in the debris field,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. From the way Moraine tensed and immediately looked down, Pellaeon knew he was right about just what had caused the evident sleeplessness. 

“Captain, I’m sorry. I should have been paying better attention. I was watching the screen instead of looking out and I should have – I should have called for the turn sooner.” 

“Mm,” Gilad agreed, and blew softly on his mustache as he let out a sigh. “You should have. What happened after?” 

“After?” Tarn blinked. “What – do you mean? After?” 

“Your mistake was corrected. No one was hurt. I assume there must have been some personal catastrophe. A message from home, perhaps?” He met the youngster’s confused gaze. “No? You haven’t been sleeping. You’re causing unnecessary tension on your watches. If there isn’t something personal going on, what is it?” 

Tarn felt sick. His cheeks heated and he stared down hard at where a light reflected off the table. “It’s… my mistake, sir.” 

“Please explain.” 

Tarn’s hands were clasped tightly under the table. “I wanted to – do it right. I was so focused on getting it right that I forgot to – relax and be more mindful of all the details at once. I was focusing only on the timing, only on the numbers, on what I was – what I was  _supposed_  to do… and I – could have seriously damaged the ship.” 

“Mm. Yes. You nearly did. And?” 

“And?” Moraine blinked and looked up. “And what? You haven’t punished me for it. I keep expecting you to. No one has  _said_  anything. No one even looks at me anymore, thank the Force. I can’t – I can’t sleep. I can hardly eat. All I can remember is that moment of looking up and seeing how close we were, and I knew if you weren’t there, it’s possible no one would have said anything, and..” His hands clenched into fists and he heard his own voice tighten, the threat of tears embarrassingly real and even more embarrassingly difficult to stave off, tired as he was. “I’m – sorry. I shouldn’t be–” His vision blurred and the hot tears spilled out, betraying him. Moraine closed his eyes tightly. 

Pellaeon watched him struggle for control, then decided to give him time to regain it, while offering what he suspected the young man truly needed. 

“You have the makings of a very fine officer,” he said. “I know everything there is to know about you. I was surprised by your mistake in the debris field. I was embarrassed for you. As the seconds passed and you stayed fixed to the screen, you looked as foolish as a new, green, over-eager cadet. You should never have forgotten yourself so completely. However. The moment you realized your mistake, you took the  _correct_  action. You didn’t over-compensate and swing us too sharply. You didn’t blame it on anyone else, as I’ve seen many a conning officer do. You made a serious mistake – and now you don’t know what to do.” 

Tarn opened his eyes and met Pellaeon’s clear, almost harsh gaze, but met it with absolute trust. “What  _do_  I do, sir?”

“You own it.”

“Captain?”

“Own your mistake, then move on. Remember it, but let go the shame. I need you fully functioning, not wallowing in shame – not like this. It’s acceptable to be ashamed of making a severe navigational error. All officers do, at one point or another. Most are lucky enough to survive them. Some are dismissed for them. You won’t be. I like the way you handle yourself – most of the time. I like the way your watch runs. So. Own it.” 

“How?” Moraine didn’t sound obstinate, only lost. Willing, but confused. “What do I…?”

“Say it. Not to me. Don’t offer me an explanation. Just acknowledge your mistakes aloud – and then move on.” 

Moraine took a deep breath and nodded once. He closed his eyes again, then put his hands on the table and pressed them flat. “I… made a serious mistake. I shouldn’t have. I know better. I have more experience than that. I am better trained than that. I could have damaged the ship. It’s possible that lives would have been lost during damage control. When I think about what could have… No. I made a mistake. I performed poorly. I… feel.. like a failure. A poor officer. This isn’t who I want to be – but – my captain.” He had to clear his throat, which suddenly felt tight again. “My captain believes I’m worth more than just this mistake. So I – I have to forgive myself. I have to let it go.” 

“Indeed. Now.” Pellaeon waited a beat, then sat up straight. “Let it go.” 

Tarn took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and met Pellaeon’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quieter than before – but calmer. “It won’t happen again, sir.” 

“Very good. See that it doesn’t. Get some rest, Lieutenant Moraine.” 

When the young man left, Gilad sighed and rubbed his forehead. Younger officers needed much more help than they ever seemed to realize, but he was glad to give it. Glad, at least, when the officers were like young Moraine, willing to accept it.

-

When Tarn felt the cool pillowcase against his cheek, he closed his eyes, curled up on his side, and fell asleep with a surprising and new sense of peace, of safety. He felt emotionally exhausted from the past few days, but there was a certain  _clean_  feeling that came with forgiving himself, a feeling he’d never known before, having never tried before– 

Until now. 

 


	2. Please Explain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pellaeon and Moraine have a dangerous confrontation when the young officer confesses to Gilad, "I am no longer loyal to the Empire."

“Please explain,” Gilad said, his voice cool and steady. He resisted the temptation to curl one of his hands into a fist, focusing instead on keeping his breathing steady, on watching every movement of the other man’s reflection in the window. A moment ago, before Lt. Tarn Moraine stepped behind him and offered that soft confession, Pellaeon was sure he had seen the shape of a blaster in the man’s hand. Although he wasn’t frightened, he knew better than to provoke the man; in a situation this emotionally charged, there was no need to let his own emotions out of hand. Moraine was an effective killer and would either pull the trigger or not, depending on how well the captain managed him. 

“Pretty sure you heard me,” Moraine replied, and laughed quietly, a little sadly. “I’m Rebel scum, sir.” 

Moraine sounded like he was on the edge of losing something, although Gilad didn’t think it was control. A sense of self, perhaps, which meant that this situation may, in fact, be salvageable. As he could not expect rescue – their meeting had been arranged to happen in private – he had to handle this himself, which might be for the best. If Moraine was on the edge, if he hadn’t yet entirely given up on his identity, then neither anger nor fear would be of any particular use to Pellaeon in controlling him. Understanding, though, a pair of friendly eyes, that might get him somewhere. 

“So you’ve said. I’m going to turn around. Lieutenant Moraine.” Pellaeon was sure to let the rank and name fall from his lips just the same as they ever had, as if nothing had changed. He saw the man give a small nod of his head, then turned to look at him.

The blaster was aimed at his midsection, but Moraine’s light gray eyes didn’t look like the eyes of a man who was ready to use it. He might  _become_  ready, but he wasn’t. Not yet. Tarn was dressed for his watch, which would begin in less than an hour, but one button had been left undone – a minor detail, but it meant something. The accidents of a distracted mind always did. Moraine stood straight and tall, just as he always did, but that forgotten button and the look of a sad sort of confusion in his eyes made him seem to be slouching. He looked undone. He looked undone, but he was  _good_  with that weapon – too good. 

“It sounds like we need to talk,” Pellaeon said, and the air kicked on with a soft hum, accentuating just how empty and bleak the room was. Everything needed to be calm, controlled. Anger could come later. 

Moraine laughed wearily and shook his head. “There isn’t much left to say, sir. I’m one of them.” 

Pellaeon’s jaw tensed slightly and he lifted his chin, but kept his gaze hard and steady on the younger man. “And how long has this been going on?” Using rank would only widen the barrier between them, he thought, but Moraine was still young enough that a fatherly approach might help. 

“It’s… I don’t know. Maybe it always has been.” 

“You’re a good navigator. A fine watch officer. You’ve never given anyone cause to doubt you. You could have easily left the ship rather than confess to me. May I speak plainly?” 

Moraine swallowed and Pellaeon could see a desperately sad yearning in his eyes. “Please, Captain,” the man said. 

Gilad nodded. This was one of the better officers he’d ever worked with, intelligent enough and dedicated enough that an appeal to his sense might at least get that weapon lowered. “You don’t sound particularly pleased to tell me of your treachery. As I said, you could have left the ship. You didn’t have to confess. Is there another reason you’ve stayed? Have you done something to the ship?” He let the word  _sabotage_  hang silently between them.

Moraine’s eyes widened at the suggestion and he seemed to straighten, although his hand didn’t waver. “No. Of course not. I would never harm one of our ships.”

“Our. Our ships?” Gilad let a trickle of anger into his voice now, an intentional measurement of disapproval. “You’ve just told me that your sympathies lie elsewhere. Now. Tell me the truth, Moraine. Do you want to shoot me?”

A moment of silence passed and then the lieutenant shook his head. “No.” 

“You don’t want to shoot me. You didn’t leave. You didn’t sabotage the ship. Yet you confess to treason. Why? You know I can’t forgive you for something this serious. Whatever I might personally be inclined to do,” he let the vague words imply that he might have some sort of empathy for the apparent traitor, “my duty is still to our people.” Pellaeon hesitated just a moment, then went on to add the riskiest part of this all: “I can’t let you go.” 

Once again, silence descended and Gilad felt the moment grow long as Moraine struggled with himself. The time for action was approaching; if the young man’s eyes changed, if he decided to shoot, this would be Pellaeon’s only chance to lung forward and disarm him. If he wasn’t fast enough, or if he stumbled, this might very well be the end for him –

But Moraine didn’t decide to shoot. 

“No, sir,” he said. “You can’t let me go.” He took the safety  _off_  of the pistol, giving the captain a mild surprise as he’d thought it was already off, and then he turned the weapon around and held it out. “But you can… let me go.” 

Pellaeon’s mouth was dryer than usual as he accepted the weapon. Now that he had control of the situation back, he didn’t need to allow this conversation to continue – not here, at any rate. It would be easy enough to get the man into a cell.. but there was still something wrong, still something  _off_  about Moraine’s eyes. The man had claimed he wouldn’t sabotage a ship, but instinct was still nagging at Pellaeon that there was more to discover here. 

“What did you do, Tarn?” 

In response, Moraine gave him the saddest smile Pellaeon had ever seen and looked out the windows, out at the seemingly endless black. “You’ll see soon enough, sir. I’m sorry.”

 


End file.
